


Parrotfish Gills and How They Tear

by Lord_Turkish



Series: Dead Dimension Dreamers [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: A stupid amount of blood, Also genderfluid Eridan shoutout, Blood Drinking, But no this is basically Porrim momming the fuck out of Eridan after some serious shit goes down, Extended dream sequences, Like the plagues of Egypt got nothing on this shit, Multi, general sads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Turkish/pseuds/Lord_Turkish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had spotted, out of the corner of her eye, two sets of scratches dragging up from his navel and across the sides of his ribs. Possessive claws. That’s what gave it away. The filaments of his teleosteian gills were still oozing violet, operculum torn almost entirely off. This near-dead skin fluttered and bent loosely as he moved, causing him to wince and flinch. </p><p>Porrim asked how he was still standing.</p><p>He responded by saying he’d show her by kicking.</p><p>The subject dropped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Girls Night In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lizardlicks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardlicks/gifts).



**Parrotfish Gills and How They Tear**

**Or**

**How Porrim Grew Fond Of An Immature Douchebag**

 

_"I wish that I could provide_

_the kind of weapons money won't buy_

_together we'd go hunting through the hallows of our hearts_

_and kill_

_the things_

_that keep us down_

_and cut_

_the strings_

_that which our fears seem bound_

_and kiss_

_the flicker_

_of the flames that burn us out_

_from within."_

_-_ "Fangs" by Man Man

 

* * *

 

It had been girls night.

The group of once-dead damsels—Latula, Meulin, Aradia, Meenah, Feferi, Kanaya and her human matesprit Rose—had been gathered at Porrim’s hive. Meulin had filched some kicking soporific and booze from Kurloz and the group had been enjoying themselves a game of truth or shots. It was nearly one in the morning and Latula was in the middle of her third attempt at tricking Feferi into taking her top off. Things were light. Fun, even.

Then.

Then the knock heard ‘round the hive.

Porrim had assumed it was Nepeta. The girl had promised she’d drop by and she had a tendency to be egregiously late to every venture she was invited to. So with glass in hand and uncharacteristically tipsy the eldest Maryam went to answer, laughing at something quippy Rose had said as she pulled the door open. Something about the curiosity of sea dweller gills and how she’d gladly back Latula albeit for “research” purposes. “ _Very_ likely.” Porrim called back before her eyes fell onto the newcomer.

She stopped in her tracks.

Lanky not short. Lightning bolts in place of cat ears. Violet instead of olive.

Ampora.

She slammed the door shut on impulse. It wasn’t until the initial shock wore off, leaning against the door with painted claws digging into the wood, that she processed that it was the younger of the two violetbloods. No scars, no sneer, no “authentic” human cigarette.

Eridan. She was fairly certain that was his name.

_Angelmaker._

Despite the brief horror that came with facing the young rendition of the Beforan legend— _matesprit killer child culler lunatic beyond even Cronus’s ilk—_ she was relieved. If it had been Cronus the rest of the night would have been shot. The bastard had a way of clinging to her like a leech to a leg and not going away until everyone in the vicinity had been drained. Eridan, while exhausting, could be easily shooed away.

Taking care of him would be a five minute job, tops.

Assuming.

Porrim opened the door.

 _Child._ For the second time that night she was taken aback. Very few of the dreaming dead who had died young allowed themselves to appear their death age. They usually opted to masquerade older. Everyone knew everyone else was older than an eon and a day, but nothing made it harder to be taken seriously than looking like a six-sweep-old. So the Alternians, these young ancestors, dressed up. Bent the ever-expansive creative space of the dream bubbles to appear more mature and closer to their Beforan counterparts. Ten, eleven, even twelve sweeps old. Eridan typically favored older as to match heights with Cronus, and that only made seeing him standing on her doorstep as a soft-faced bundle of too-long limbs an even harsher slap in the face.

It had been raining for the past hour and the poor creature was soaked to the bone and on top of that, he was wearing next to nothing. Boxers a size too large hanging off hips two sizes too narrow. A white cotton shirt—one of Cronus’s—was bunched up at his shoulders, translucent, wet and clinging to his ash-pale skin. Despite her having opened and closed the door twice his gaze remained downcast. The top half of his face was curtained from view by seaweed clumps of black and violet as he stared fixedly at his bare feet. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest, combating shivers even though he was an ice blooded sea dweller and it was downright balmy out.

“Is there anything…” Porrim began, her tone measured. Eridan lifted his gaze. When his eyes met hers her jaw snapped shut with an audible _click._

There was no need to ask why he was there. The answer was scrawled all over that broken-angle face of his. Looking straight-on it became obvious his nose didn’t bend that way naturally and what appeared to be shadows were actually a smattering of black-purple bruises. These mingled with the bags under his eyes—daymare hand-me-downs—and his pupils were so dilated that she had a tough time making out the violet ring of his iris. Suddenly, his shaking seemed more pronounced. More vulnerable. Porrim had to resist the urge to reach out and take hold of him before he rattled himself to pieces right in front of her.

Oh _child._

He cleared his throat. “…Is Fef here?”

His voice was as measured and quiet as her own had been, which was conflicting. Porrim chewed on her lip. Composure was not an Ampora trait. Eridan especially was one to overplay his troubles, not underplay. The fact he was treating aftermath worthy of academy award winning drama like a casual evening visit put her off. In her experience this could only mean two things—either he was currently on the verge of a meltdown or that he was filing all that turmoil away to whip it out when everyone least expected it. The last thing she needed was to accidentally trigger the prior, but she had no idea how to circumvent that.

Thankfully she was saved from answering when a voice chimed in behind her. Latula. “Hey! Is it Nep or no?”

“No. It’s not.” Porrim sighed.

Pyrope snorted. “Then tell whoever it is to piss off. I’m tryna get fish princess here to do the bare naked macarana and I _know_ you don’t wanna miss it.”

 _“What?”_ Eridan’s eyebrows shot up, the first real emotion he’d expressed. Soaked in nothing but his underwear and still overprotective as hell. Porrim was hit by another unwanted pang of pity. In the meantime Latula had wandered up behind her to peek over his shoulder at the doorstep. She could feel her friend’s mood sour when she saw Eridan.

“Oh fuck. Who invited lil’ Ampora?”

“Let me in.” He scowled. However it was more sad than threatening with the way his hair kept getting stuck in his eyes.

Latula whistled. “Dude. You should go get some help. Looks like somebody fucked you up real bad.”

 _“Latula.”_ Porrim snapped but it was already too late. Whatever blood that was left in Eridan’s face evacuated in a hurry, leaving him looking like a proper ghost. There was a hanging moment where Porrim was prepared to swoop in to catch a breakdown, to collect him up in her arms and try her damnedest not to get any of his blood on her dress.

That didn’t happen.

Instead he plowed right by them. As fragile as he looked he was packing a lot of power in that twig body of his. He was stumbling down the hall in no time, the two woman lagged momentarily out of sheer shock before chasing after him.

The next few minutes were a cluster fuck. Eridan started shouting something about royal chastity as he stormed into the living area where Feferi already had her shirt stuck over her head, the loose material having been snagged on one of her horns. Meulin was picking past the frizzy bush of hair intertwined with the frothy fabric, attempting to pick and claw her free before hopping back with a yowl when Eridan drunkenly crashed on scene. Her hands firmly caught in Feferi’s deathtrap hair, Feferi went tumbling backward with her just as Porrim and Latula came skidding in on Eridan’s heels.

Kanaya was the first on her feet, diving between Eridan and Feferi in no time and shoving him back before he could get to her which sent him flailing back into Porrim. She made no hesitation to wrap her arms around him in a vice grip, easily holding him back as he continued to thrash and shout. He wasn’t the only loud one. Everyone was talking at once. 

_Where the fuck—_

_Who the fuck—_

_Why the fuck—_

_Get._

_Him._

_Out._

By the time Feferi, the poor confused girl, got her shirt off and wised up to the situation all the rapidly mounted tension in the room had already crested. Kanaya had been shepherded into the kitchen by Rose. Meenah had thrown her hands up and left the hive all together because she wasn’t about to have any more Ampora bullshit. And Eridan. Eridan had gone stock still against Porrim staring wide-eyed down at his ex-moirail.

Porrim could feel every taunt wire holding that boy together. How they strained with his every intake of breath, the shift as he reached out to her with one pathetically shaky hand muttering a mantra of _“please, Fef, please I need please”_ under his breath. From the looks of it she had gone equally as rigid, not moving from her spot and clutching her shirt conservatively against her chest.

Eridan reached further, voice cracking. “ _Please.”_

She bolted.

He crumbled.

Latula was the only one who helped Porrim haul him back to his feet, albeit with far too much commentary of how gross his sobbing was. Aradia and Meulin, the only two others left in the room, watched quietly as he was shepherded up the stairs (Not out the door, Porrim wasn’t so cruel) and to one of the empty respitblocks on the second floor.

Faintly, from up the stairwell, Porrim heard Aradia chirp to Meulin.

_“And here I was worried it was getting boring!”_

 

_—_

 

Porrim had chewed her lip raw. 

Hell, her left fang was dug in so far she might as well put in another piercing. Nerves, while something she could handle, were a real pest in this way. The slow cut of her incisors moored her mind, keeping it from drifting too far as her thoughts flitted between downstairs and the troll that stood before her.

Stood is putting it charitably.

Slumped is far more accurate.

Eridan was pawing through her wardrobe. Well, one of her wardrobes. It was one of the burdens of being one of a pair of seamstresses sharing a hive: there never seemed to be enough closet space. They had just spent the hour arguing, and things had come to a head of sorts. He wanted to leave, embarrassed for having shown weakness so publicly or because of some other strange violations of Alternian custom. Their entire spat, he never once looked her in the eye. Hound with his tail between his legs, speaking as if they were near a shed and she was toting a rifle. 

Which is ridiculous, since melee was more her style.

But pointing that out would be digressing.

He wanted to leave. To where, it was clear he didn’t know. Likely back to his own hive where Porrim would rather gnaw her lip off than see him go to in this state. While he never was explicit, never attributed reason to his injuries she knew damn well whose knuckles were imprinted along the curve of his cheekbones. 

 

_(She had spotted, out of the corner of her eye while he was changing out of his soaked clothing, two sets of scratches dragging up from his navel and across the sides of his ribs. Possessive claws. That’s what gave it away. The filaments of his teleosteian gills were still oozing violet, operculum torn almost entirely off. This near-dead skin fluttered and bent loosely as he moved, causing him to wince and flinch._

_Porrim asked how he was still standing._

_He responded by saying he’d show her by kicking._

_The subject dropped.)_

 

It had been silent for at least a quarter of an hour, the only sound being the clicking of coat hangers and the steady tap of Porrim’s nails against the wall. The party had disbanded shortly after Eridan’s arrival, Kanaya and Rose down in the kitchen being the only other occupants left in the hive. Porrim knew Kanaya would rather Eridan leave even though she likely wouldn’t voice it. Rose would probably make a passive aggressive stab at it in a weeks time in an attempt to once again psychoanalyze Porrim’s “maternal fixation”.

But none of that mattered at the moment. What mattered was the poor child who needed asylum from both his hive mate and his own idiocy. 

“You should rest.” She finally urged.

Eridan scoffed. “You sound like a broken record.”

“I know. If that’s upsetting you I recommend you sleep it off.”

“Why are you still here.”

“Not for my health.” She chuckled flatly, “that’s for sure.”

“Then piss off. I already told ‘ya I don’t do charity.” Metal hooks screeched against the metal closet rod as he pushed several shirts to the side in favor of scrutinizing a collection of skirts. Typical Ampora prude disdain.

“We’ve been over this. It’s not charity. It’s common sense. You’re in no state to—“

“—You pity me—“

“—I _worry_ for you.” The statement tasted wrong leaving her lips. It wasn’t quite true, or at least she didn’t particularly want it to be true. _Angelmaker. This is the Angelmaker. He murdered your ancestor in another life. He tried to kill Kanaya. Don’t get close._ However it was impossible not to feel something, a quiet care that somehow burrowed deep into her bloodpusher. Similar to what she had felt with Kankri, now that she thought about it. Logic be damned, this boy’s injury demanded that she be gentle.

Yet speaking on this troubling fondness felt wrong. Stilted. And despite Eridan being one of the more oblivious trolls from the Alternian twelve he could sense it too.

“There’s no reason to.” He plucked a skirt from the bunch, running the fabric between his fingers. 

The idiot was setting her up to rebut, trying to spark yet another argument. She refused to take the bait a second time. “You like it?”

“Hm?” He didn’t take his gaze off of the skirt. It was nothing special. Knit. Red-and-black checks. Very niche-fashion, something Porrim personally wouldn’t be caught dead in. 

“The skirt.” She finally pushed away from the wall, risking to step closer to him and take hold of one of the skirt’s corners. Examining it with him. 

He kept his body angled away from her, but at least he didn’t shrink away like he had been doing earlier. Progress. “It’s nice fabric.”

“It’s from Kanaya’s loom.”

“And the pattern—“

“—Atrocious—“

“—Eye-catching.” He muttered, running a thumb across its hem. “It seems like her.”

The fondness of his tone made Porrim uneasy. Any interaction between he and Kanaya did. “You like the style.”

He nodded. “Fef would sometimes borrow Kanaya’s things. Wear them around. Wreck them underwater. She wore them well, though.”

Another landmine topic Porrim would prefer to avoid. _Focus on the fabric._ “You wanted to borrow some, too?”

“No.” His answer came a beat too early to be believable, eyes flickering between Porrim and the skirt. “I had what I wanted.”

“I’m… sure you did.”

“I _did_.”

“You did.”

“Yeah.” He paused. “I borrowed one once, from Fef.”

Porrim let go of her portion of the skirt. “Did you wear it well?”

“She laughed at me.” Eridan draped the skirt back over the hanger. “Was a real bitch about it, actually.”

Porrim sighed. “Let’s not talk about her anymore.”

“She was such a fuck’n bitch.” He muttered, snapping the hanger back on the rail with a sharp _click._ “Lowblood-lovin’ air headed cunt. I fuckin’ hate her.”

“Hypocritical, coming from you.”

For the first time since his episode downstairs, he faced her straight-on. “Fuck you.”

“I’m not interested.

_“Fuck you.”_

“Maybe if you wore that skirt.” Porrim smirked. “Then I might consider.”

Color splashed across his cheeks, restoring some much-needed life to his face. Success. She plucked the hanger back out of the closet, handing it back to him. “Keep it. It’s not being worn, anyhow.”

“No.”

“You really do not know how to take a favor.” Porrim hooked the hanger on the closet doorknob, leaving it on display so he could take it if he so chose. 

He didn’t, or at least, not right then. The way his eyes kept drifting back to it implied it might be gone by morning. “I already said. I don’t do favors. I’m above them.”

She patted him on the shoulder, careful not to accidentally strike an unseen injury. 

“I believe you, hun.”

 

—

 

Eridan was gone the next morning. Slipped out before the rest of the hive woke up. One night of refuge, nothing more, which was probably all either Maryam could bear to offer. Kanaya was thrilled at his departure, Rose once again was noncommittal with her opinion.

Porrim wasn’t sure what her thoughts were concerning him. Relieved, certainly, consoling him was more exhausting than an argument with Kankri. However as the day progressed she couldn’t help but find herself wondering how he was. Fussing. Worrying.

She filed all this away into the back of her mind. There was no use for concern. Despite the trauma, despite the snapshot of desperation she had the misfortune of witnessing, things would resume their regular pace. He’d fade back to the periphery of her social circle, only coming up in the casual mention or brief glance across a dream-bubble crossroads. Sure she’d see another facet of Cronus’s sneer, speculate over the sincerity in which the Beforan Eridan had killed her own ancestor, wonder if it was possible for such a child to be born with that sort of sociopathy. She had a hard time imagining that scared boy doing anything so wretched. 

All this stewed as she tidied up the guest respitblock Eridan had stayed in, combing the room for anything he could have left behind. He came with nothing so naturally there was nothing.

Except.

The skirt.

Porrim plucked the empty hanger from the closet door handle and smiled.

_Such a child._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one ran away from me. 
> 
> This prompt really got me thinking and unfortunately I bit off more than I could chew under a deadline, so not all the events that I wanted to be included in this now-series made it into this particular one-shot. 
> 
> So stay tuned for the thrilling sequel of Eripor Shenanigans: Eridan's misguided attempt at paying Porrim back for her generosity. 
> 
> Ohboyohboyohboy.
> 
> LAST MINUTE PRO EDIT: Surprise I'm just going to make this multi chaptered instead so merry cribmas mofos. Have staggered sequence of additional chapters that will be slapped on here in the next couple days.


	2. Pesterlog #1

CA: por

CA: por

CA: porrim please youre killin me here

**[GA delete 245 messages from CA? Y/N]**

CA: wwait wwhat

CA: thats not real is it 

CA: wwhy am i seein that i shouldnt be seein that

CA: it cant be real it wwouldnt post that shit ive nevver seen that shit before

**[GA delete 249 messages from CA? Y/N]**

GA: Y.

CA: rudeass bitch

**[Data cleared.]**

GA: I am surprised yo+u have never seen that no+tificatio+n before. Yo+u must have very patient friends.

CA: fuck you okay it just goes to showw howw shitty your chat client is compared to ours 

CA: unlike you lot wwe havve the decency to not be so clumsily blatant wwith our snubs

CA: spitin people is a delicate process and you cant just throww that negativve shit around like its nothin it looses its impact

CA: but you flush huggers wouldnt knoww that wwould you pitch really is a lost art

**[GA delete 5 messages from CA? Y/N]**

GA: Y.

**[Data cleared.]**

CA: fuck you

GA: Are yo+u wearing the skirt that I gave yo+u?

CA: wwere gettin off point

CA: seriously por

CA: wwhat do you wwant

CA: i wwasnt kiddin wwhen i said id make good on my promise

CA: just fuckin tell me wwhat you need so wwe can be done here

GA: Yo+u never made any promise.

CA: shut up

CA: wwhat do you want

GA: Here is the pro+blem. 

GA: While I’d be mo+re than happy to reap the “fruits of my labo+r” so+ to+ speak, I am afraid that there is abso+lutely no+thing yo+u have that I want.

GA: Except, perhaps, fo+r yo+u to+ sto+p pestering me.

CA: …

CA: come on

GA: I tho+ught yo+u didn’t do+ favo+rs.

CA: literally anythin

CA: anythin you could possibly wwant

CA: amporas always repay their debts its a matter of fuckin honor

GA: Ho+no+r?

CA: its a high blood thing

CA: you wwouldnt understand

GA: I’m sure I wo+uldn’t.

CA: just tell me wwhat you wwant and ill get out of your hair for good

GA: Yo+u really are set o+n this, aren’t yo+u?

CA: yes!

GA: …

GA: Fine.

GA: If yo+u must pro+vide me so+mething I co+uld always do+ with a light snack.

CA: …

CA: wwait

CA: you talkin like fried grubs or

CA: the other thing

GA: The o+ther thing, Eridan.

CA: oh

CA: wwell

GA: Yo+u did say anything.

CA: yeah I fuckin knoww wwhat i said

CA: ill do it

CA: just givve me a second to collect myself

GA: Pardo+n?

CA: ill be ovver in an hour

GA: Eridan.

GA: This isn’t so+mething yo+u must do+ immediately.

CA: I wwant to do it noww

GA: Is this what this is all abo+ut? Getting o+ut o+f yo+ur hive?

CA: is kan there?

GA: Eridan.

CA: or ros?

GA: …no.

GA: They are not.

GA: They are o+ut fo+r the day.

CA: thank god

CA: ill talk to you later

CA: see you in an hour

** [CA has disconnected.] **

GA: Talk to+ yo+u later.

** [GA has disconnected.] **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter could technically stand alone, but I couldn't just not start expanding on this as soon as I could. So have a pesterlog!


	3. A Note Of Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the typos. I'll zap those suckers as soon as I get a few hours of sleep to clear my head.

If Porrim had nothing kind to say about Eridan, she’d at least be able to say that he was punctual.

According to the pester log, the last message he had sent her had gone out at 2:13 in the afternoon. Sure enough, 3:13, a sharp rap echoed down the entry hall of her hive. So exact it may have frightened Porrim if she wasn’t already used to tediously meticulous schedules such as Kankri’s. That and she had caught a glimpse of him out the window at 2:32. Chances were he arrived early and waited at her front stoop until the hour mark was reached. It would have been funny if the behavior wasn’t so eerily similar to Cronus’s.

The last thing anyone needed was another Cronus.

“Excited?” Porrim hedged when he cut past her and walked into her hive without greeting, without even slipping his boots off. 

Eridan shrugged, taking off his sunglasses and tucking them into the collar of his shirt. Unlike their last encounter he was flaunting a 12-going-on-13-sweeps look, a head taller than her sans heels and a facial structure so aristocratic it was physically painful to look at. He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “In a hurry.”

Porrim was as inclined to believe that as she was to believe Kankri when he claimed he would wrap up his sermon within an hour. But alas, the Ampora ego is a fragile thing and she didn’t want to hazard breaking it lest she’d have to walk him through another mental breakdown. So instead she followed him into the living room, stepping around him and sitting on the far end of the couch when he stopped three strides from the entryway. She patted the cushion next to her. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

He nodded but didn’t move beyond that.

She arched an eyebrow. “Second thoughts?”

“No.” He snapped.

“Then sit.”

“I will.”

“If you’re waiting for a cue, this is it Eridan.”

“I’m not—“ He cut himself off and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes with a sharp exhale. “Okay yeah. Second thoughts. I’ll get over them.”

Porrim’s brow furrowed. Worried, confused, maybe a bit nauseous. Whatever it was, she had nof idea what emotion that statement roused. “You don’t have to Eridan. It’s perfectly fine to walk out if you want to. I won’t be offended.”

“It’s not fine and also it’s okay I’m over it. I’m over it.” He dropped his hand and opened his eyes, rigidly moving from his spot and settling down next to her on the couch. “I’m over it.”

“…take your boots off, then. Relax.” The boy looked stiffer than the couch they were sitting on and that was further confirmed when she placed a hand on his shoulder. It was a wonder his muscles hadn’t snapped with how taunt they’re pulled. 

He huffed. "I told you, I'm in a hurry. I leave as soon as we're through."

"Yes, well, you've tracked dirt all over my carpet. I'd prefer you not to continue, leaving soon or no." She scooted closer and in what she assumed was misguided anticipation, he tilted his head to the side, exposing his throat. Tsk’ing she reached up and took hold of one of his horns and pushed his head back into place. “I’m not using your throat.”

“Why not?” He huffed, straining against her grip.

“I’d tear your gills. One of your major arteries run right through them and I’m not about to take away your remaining pair because I want a light snack.” She knew the moment she’d finished her statement that she had pushed the topic a little too far for his comfort, his annoyance visibly melting into a chilly pool of wariness.

“My gills are fine.” His voice was level. Detached. “There’s nothing wrong with either pair.”

She let go of his horn. “Fine or not, I’m not inflicting any more damage than I have to. Now give me your arm.”

He did. “How do you even know that? You haven’t… been with…”

“Feferi? No. Meenah? Yes. And trust me I’ve gleaned more than I could ever desire from the experience.” Porrim undid the cuff buttons of his shirt and rolled up the sleeve, turning his arm over to expose the thin skin of his inner elbow.

Eridan leaned back against the couch, watching as she searched for a vein with the tip of her thumbnail. “You took from her arm?”

“…At times. Depended on the mood.” She pulled her thumb back, gripping his forearm as she leaned down. “Ready?”

“Obviously.”

“This will pinch a bit.”

“I know.”

She sighed. “Of course you do.”

With that, she sank her teeth into him.

As politically incorrect as Kankri would claim it was, the flavor of blood varied from caste to caste. Nothing as drastic as the difference between sugar and iron, candy and meat. More of varying brands of bitter on a range from lowblood citrus and highblood salt. Each bloodtype also came with their own added boosts, though she was never entirely sure if they were actual side effects or placebo echoes from her recent meals. Medigos made her feel as if time had slowed for a short while, Captors left her veins buzzing, Pyropes fueled her focus and that one time with Makara… well she’d rather not dwell on that. She had never, however, tasted violet blood before. As much as Cronus had tempted and taunted her in the past she never wanted to give him the satisfaction.

Eridan tasted like… he tasted like licking brine off a scallop shell. Porrim personally had never done such a thing, but that was the closest thing she could imagine to compare the taste. It lacked most of the hearty warmth and richness of fuchsia and left a sour aftertaste. 

There was, however, a note of an energized something. 

Highblood rage or the remnants of yesterday’s shot of sopor Porrim didn’t know; but the more she drank the stronger it was. It coated her tongue and down the back of her throat thick and visceral causing her heart to pick up and pace. Made her shiver even though it was downright balmy out and she had sweated half her water weight over the course of the morning due the humidity. The shaking was tethered by a tenseness that had bled from him to her, leaving her charged like a spring and she didn’t know if she wanted to strike out or come undone. She struggled to put a name to it.

It was a note of hope, a note of panic. A note that occupied her attention to the point she almost didn’t notice how labored his breathing had become or the cold sweat that had broken out across his skin in a steady sheen.

It was no small effort to pull back.

She hadn’t taken much, this she was certain. Especially with highbloods being highbloods she knew there was no way that she had drawn more than what a healthy violet could handle. So when she looked up to see how glassy Eridan’s eyes had become a multitude of red flags went up. She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead.

He was warm.

Burning fever for a highblood.

“Why’d you… stop…?” He muttered.

Her stomach turned.  _Good God, Ampora. Stop being so damn tragic._ _  
_

“I’m getting you some water.” Porrim gingerly set his arm down onto his lap and stood. “And a bandage.”

She had turned to head into the kitchen when he caught her wrist. “You didn’t take much. You didn’t… you didn’t like it?”

“Eridan you’re ill.” She pried his fingers off of her. Unlike his forehead they were frigid. “You’re in no condition to give blood.”

“I’m fine.”

Porrim took the time to shoot him an exasperated look before ducking into the kitchen. She quickly filled the nearest glass she could get ahold of with water and forced it into his hand when she returned. He spat out the first sip, cursing tap water.

The second sip took a lot more coaxing on her part but eventually he got it down followed by a few more. “Have you eaten today?”

Eridan shrugged. “Wasn’t hungry.”

“You should still eat, dear.” 

“Dear?”

“Yes. Dear.”

He stared at her as if she were the insane one. When she asked him if he had a problem with it he shook his head. “Never been called that before.”

That came as a shock. “Never?”

“Never.”

“You’ve had a moiral. You currently have a… matesprit.” The last word gnawed on her. It was such a gross misuse of the label but she had nothing else to call his relationship with his dancestor. “Yet you’ve never been called ‘dear’?”

Eridan shook his head again.

He might as well tore her heart out of her chest, he was being so damn pitiable. 

For the next few hours Porrim drifted in and out of the living room while he drifted in and out of sleep. Light naps, quick thirty minute long siestas that didn’t invite daymares even without the aid of a coon. His arm was patched up easily enough and by the time the afternoon came to a close she’d gotten him to swallow down three glasses of water. He’d rejected every offer to food however. Claimed it was due to his discerning pallet though she knew better to buy that crap. The fucker was too damn neurotic for his own good, afraid to ask for help that they both knew he needed but couldn't get because of his twisted sense of honor.

Fuck honor, Porrim just wanted to make sure he wasn’t about to double-die on her.

By the time Kanaya and Rose returned from whatever romantic escapade they’d been pursuing through the day, Eridan was still curled up on the couch draped in a spare quilt. Predictably Kanaya was less than pleased. Thankfully though it was late enough for her to be tired and instead of grilling Porrim right then and there she waved the issue off for the next morning. Rose wasn’t so much bothered than bemused by the situation, flaunting her signature smirk as she watched Eridan sleep as Kanaya wrapped up her conversation with Porrim.

When they retired for the night Porrim followed after them. As concerned as she was, she couldn’t stay by his side the entire night.

Should he want to leave between naps, the front door was unlocked for him. Porrim told herself she wouldn’t care if he did, that she had done her part to make sure he was getting well and that it wasn’t her concern from here on out. However part of her, that traitor bleeding heart part, clung to the hope that he would stay. To give her an excuse to further look after him. To make sure he wasn’t starving himself or getting his gills further ruined by the only troll across the span of bubbles that’d claim to love him.

_Never been called dear. Has never been dear. Angelmaker is a sad creature._

She tucked a second blanket over him before she left. The shiver simply wouldn’t leave him, wracking him so bad that she had to pull out a third for herself thanks to the false connection she felt thanks to sharing his blood. Porrim brushed his hair to the side and attempted to recall the softened edges of a child’s face in place of the harshness of his current mask but failed. _Still a child._  She stepped back, pulling the blanket more snug around her shoulders before exiting. 

It wasn’t until she had slid into her recouprecoon that she realized he’d never taken off his boots.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let this be a lesson to all you peeps: if you ever tell yourself you can write two 60-page plays as well as a multi-chaptered fic at the same time, do yourself a favor and kick your own ass as hard as you can. Trust me. It'll help in the long run.


	4. Angelmaker Wine...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me as I add this to my Dead Dimension Dreamers series, now that this is no longer an anon fic.

Porim didn’t wake up in her recouprecoon.

She didn’t wake at all actually. She popped into being without memory of where she last was which only made it harder for her to recall if she had even been sleeping in the first place. The only thing she was certain of was what was immediately before her.

She was seated at the periphery of a feast. Well, the remains of a feast. The coffin sized table was lousy with carved out loaves between bowls of gnawed fruit cores, all clustered around a picked clean rack of lusus rib soaking in a pool of grease. The odor was overpowering, doubled over itself thanks to the narrow corridor they were shoved into. Porrim gagged and clapped her hand over her nose. This was a narrow entry hall, not a dining room by any means. There was only enough room for two seats at either end of the table, her own and the one with the owlish man directly across from her.

Hang on. Not owlish. He had the beak nose but his eyes were too narrow, his neck too long.

Vulturish. If that even is a word. This man was vulturish and had violet eyes.

He smiled. It was a toothy grin, one a shark would flash an adrift sailor before devouring them. The jagged enamel had enough carrion eater flare that she shouldn’t match it with either of the violetbloods she knew. Cronus didn’t have the confidence and as far as she knew Eridan didn’t know how to smile. But this man had to be related. He had the horns, he twisted the hairline chain of his Aquarius charm necklace as he leaned back into the cushion of his wingback.

Hell his pose was so cartoonish she half expected him to start shouting about how it was half past tea and there was no room, no room. And this would have made her chuckle if it weren’t for the second charm strung on his Aquarius necklace: a glitzy rendering of a silver candlestick crossed with a club. It wasn’t a widespread symbol, so rare on Beforus it might as well been a personal sign. The crossed clubstick was only relevant to the vicious few highbloods who had consigned themselves to the Holihood of His Mirthful Deaconness Makara.

Once upon a time wearing it would have made the owner a laughing stock. Nowadays, or at least the precious few sweeps before Beforus got pummeled by meteorites, the charm did nothing but send a frosty chill through any lowblood who caught glimpse of it.

This man was Ampora, cultish but Ampora. She was as sure as the lightening bolt bend of his horns. _A third iteration? Descendent? No that makes no sense, we’d have known by now if there were more…_

Something hot streaked across the back of her hand. Porrim glanced down to see bronze running down the crook of her thumb before dripping onto the tablecloth. Shortly after, a teal droplet splashed into the drink she didn’t have until just now as she was staring at it. The drink was thick. Violet. The teal was immediately consumed and a cherry red one landed in the center of her newly acquired porcelain plate. 

Her eyes swept a second time across the table. The rot, the stench, it was gone. Steam rose from olive lusus flesh, the fruit glistened. Porrim’s stomach turned—this was worse somehow.

_Nightmare. I’m dreaming it’s a nightmare it has to be._

“Frightened?” Asked the man.

“Confused.” Porrim corrected, but she couldn’t conceal the wretch in her voice as she wiped the bronze off her hand with a nearby napkin. “Have we met?”

The man’s smile faltered and he shrugged. He dropped the charms and picked up his own glass, his filled with a viscous jade. By intuition or extra senses afforded through the imaginary landscape she knew it was blood, same as the droplets and her drink. “Yes and no. You’ve met a rendition of me.”

Another two drops, gold then fuchsia , splashed and slid down the rib and Porrim was struck by the sudden scent of fresh print. Her hands instinctively grasped as a familiar news spread appeared in them, its story the same one that had blazed every headline back when she was two and a half sweeps old.

_ANGELMAKER APPREHENDED AT HIGHBLOOD CHAPEL._

_PERSECUTION DATE TO BE SET_

_GRAND JURY ANTICIPATES EXECUTION ORDER_

_EMPRESS UNAVAILIBLE FOR COMMENT_

Porrim’s heart lodged itself in her throat when the newspaper vanished. The stranger’s predator grin was back.

_(“YOU PROMISED. YOU PROMISED—I KILLED HER I KILLED HER FOR YOU MY LOVE I KILLED HER I KILLED THEM_ _ALL_ _FOR YOU WITH SO MUCH BLOOD AN NO_ _ONE_ _LEFT TO DRINK IT—“An excerpt from the on-scene recording taken by officials. It doubles as an astute observation as the entire front of his shirt had been soaked jade at the time. Angelmaker continued to shriek on the steeple steps for another ten minutes before he was finally tranquilized by officials. The Chapel denies any affiliation with him aside from strictly ceremonial gatherings.)_

Little could be trusted of the sleazy rags that were passed around her neighborhood at the time. Most of them dramatized the arrest, overstating it to near dime store romance levels of absurdity. The betrayal, the blood, the _sex._ But that was the version of the story that stuck; politician selling his dignity to a charismatic cult leader, driven to the point of killing his few loved ones in a misguided attempt to ascend its ranks.

The very same politician that the Empress herself had so long fancied and defended.

_(“I turned a blind eye. That was a mistake that I don’t intend to make again.”)_

Porrim cleared her throat. “You’re Angelmaker.”

_(“He overstepped his bounds. This sentence should clear any and all confusion as to the matter of highblood responsibility and what should happen when it is abandoned.”)_

“You’re the sharp one, I only had to spell it out for you. Color me impressed.”

_(“I withhold the mercy of an execution.”)_

“I wasn’t aware that—I thought only sgrub players had access to the bubbles, post-mortem or otherwise.”

_(“He shall be culled.”)_

“Players as well as all of their variations. The young empress was just as thorough as the one I knew, to the point of overreaching when it came to the sake of preserving her companions.” Angelmaker took a swig of blood, grimacing. “I’m certain she wasn’t aware of what sort of backlog that’d create. Endless universes packed in a neat little bundle just out of sight, a time capsule if you will, for anyone to open. You follow?”

_(“I am compassionate. I have made it clear in my hesitation. However… correction must be taken and his actions have forced my hand. I will never allow the terror he wrought reign again. Tonight marks the end of such abuse.”)_

“I don’t recall opening anything”

_(“The position of Royal Librarion has been reopened for running. We are accepting applicants Teal and above. Thank you, and as always, I wish Beforus a Good Night.”)_

“You didn’t. Someone else did. Fuck if I know who did, but whoever it was left the door open long enough for me to get my foot in the gap before it slammed back shut and viola. Here I am. Pissing away time with you.” Angelmaker set his glass down, tracing the rim with the tip of one of his unfiled nails. Despite his steady bravado his increased fidgeting was starting to betray some… anxiety? Porrim had no idea. However it was comforting to know she wasn’t the only one uncomfortable with the situation. “Now I no longer watch. I talk to whomever, whenever.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m very flattered you’d choose me to be the first to piss away your time with.”

“Don’t be.”

“And the meal—“ She took her glass, motioning to the rest of the table. She was shaking as bad as he was fidgeting and she prayed he didn’t notice. “—is to die for.”

“Twice for.” Angelmaker sighed. “Enough with pleasantries. I don’t have  _too_ much time to piss away. I’m here to talk about my alternate. Eridan, the one still wearing that regrettable scarf, in case you need more dots connected for you.”

“How concerned lusus of you.” Porrim muttered, hazarding an experimental sip of blood. It was thick and rich with age, leaving a briny coat that took several swallows to get rid of. “And narcissistic.”

“It’s self-care.” He replied flatly. “You would do the same.”

“I’ll have to wait until I’m locked in a pocket dimension and see.”

“Maryam.”

“Yes?”

He arched a skeptical eyebrow before continuing. “I should let you know that I have boundless trust in your lineage. I don’t know you well, but I knew your ancestor and I know it is a Maryam trait to have spotless intentions. You lot have enough compassion to make a subjuggulator weep. You follow?”

Porrim nodded, eyeing the way he tilted his glass at the mention of her ancestor. Just enough for a few droplets to escape over the rim, joining the bloodfall spattering from the unseen ceiling which colored the tablecloth. He continued. “But intentions mean fuckall. Purity means fuckall. Paradox space as a whole doesn’t give two shits what you and I feel is right, it doesn’t care about your agenda about being a moral guidepost and general lighthouse warning against any of his predictably idiotic decisions. It doesn’t care that I would have gouged out my own gills for the chance to do the same thing, given the chance—”

“You are beginning to lose me.” Porrim cut in.

Angelmaker pursed his lips and pushed his glass the rest of the way over. Blood fanned out across the table in a jade splatter. Some of it caught on the cuffs of his sleeves. “I want you to stop. Stop nursing his cuts, stop mothering him. That isn’t what he needs. It isn’t what any of us needs.”

“Stop?” Porrim shook her head with a humorless chuckle. “You act like I’ve started some sort of campaign. I gave him asylum for a night, allowed him to come over after  _his_ incessant pestering. I’ve done nothing but be sensible and don’t you try to disagree. I don’t know you Angelmaker. But if you’ve been spying on what’s going on you know that I’m not the one manipulating his behavior.”

“I’m taking care of that.” Angelmaker conceded. “You’re not the only one I’m visiting. Be thankful. You’re getting my kinder side.”

“Am I?”

“Laugh it off, but it is true. Daymares can come much worse, and in that respect I am very tame. For example.” His smile dropped. “You still have your teeth.”

That statement almost forced what little blood Porrim consumed back up again. Instead she drummed her fingers against the table, trying to steady herself. “Regardless. I don’t see how what I’m doing is an issue.”

“You’re becoming attached. That is the issue.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh fuck off, there’s no use lying to me. I’m older than the fucking seraphim. You think you can shrug me off? We both know where this is going. Classical narrative dictates that you grow fond. What my descendent did is one of the oldest plot devices in the books. Poor beaten down highblood washing up on a lower blood’s doorstep and  _oh child_ how could you  _possibly_ turn him down? You patch up his wounds and as you do you can’t help but notice how damn pitiable he is, how he just needs a little nudge in the right direction. A little care. A little  _love._  It’d be downright sinful not to offer a little—“

“—you have no idea—“

“—Because he’s just a creature to take care of, isn’t he? Just like that mutant blood of yours. You can’t stand him. But you get off on the knowledge you’re doing him some good—“ He stood, palms flat on the damp cloth as he leaned toward her, voice starting a slow upward pitch into hysterics. “—you coddle him so much he becomes dependent. A vulnerable creature for you to sink your fangs into because oh, you’re just  _so good for him._ What you’re going to do is leech him of his agency until he can’t take two steps without calling his surrogate lusus—“

“— _Shut up!”_ Porrim got on her feet as well, her fingers wrapping around the stem of her glass of blood—

“ _—your care is like poison and I’ll be damned if I let you intoxicate him with it I refuse for him to suffer the same—“_

Porrim’s ears rang with the sound of glass shattering. In the excitement it took her a moment to realize she had been the one to cause it. Her arm was extended with the now stump stem of the glass clutched in her grip, the shattered remains of the bowl either littered across the table of stuck in Angelmaker’s cheek. Violet blood from both the container and his fresh cuts ran down the side of his face and dripped down his front.

She dropped the stem, stepping back and almost falling back into her chair. “I’m…” the apology got stuck in her throat as she watched him flex his jaw, sucking on something sour. A moment later he spat out something small which clattered onto her plate with a skittering  _tp tp tp tp._ She dropped her gaze and was met with a single jagged jaw beast tooth stained violet.

“ _Whore.”_  He spat along with the tooth.

Porrim set glass stem down. “I’m leaving.”

“You aren’t.”

“My daymare.” She hissed. “I call curtain.”

He glared at her. “Don’t do this. Please.” The strike had somewhat messed his gelled back hair, allowing several stray strands to fall across his eyes. Porrim couldn’t help but draw connections with the rainy night with Eridan.

 

_(Child.)_

Angelmaker’s response was muted by a cough. Blood dripped from his mouth. His nose. The steady drizzle from the ceiling was verging on a downpour, rainbow mixing muddy across Porrim’s skin and pooling at her feet. She was also beginning to cough, air thickening to the point where she felt like she was gasping in lungfuls of water.

The room was dimming.

The dream was ending.

Moments before Porrim was gone, Angelmaker rasped two last words.

_“Trust me.”_

 

* * *

 

_(“We don’t speak his name any longer.” A caretaker explained. “He’s lost the right.”_

_“Okay. Angelmaker then.” Porrim gripped the squiddle in her hands tighter. Her small pudgy hands trying to find mooring in the plush. “He is being culled. Is that a punishment? I thought--?”_

_“Cull is a complex word. It can mean many things. Being culled doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you a broken one.” The caretaker patted his lap, and Porrim hopped up on it. “Good people break. Bad people break. Simple as that.”_

_Porrim didn’t look up to him. Instead she chose to stare down into her lap. She knew he’d laugh at the confused knit of her brow and wanted to avoid it. “And execution--?”_

_“Let’s not talk about that. Point is, he was a sick man. He’s being fixed now. It’s an example of the Empress’s mercy, nothing more. No more worry. For you. Me. Your friends. Even Angelmaker gets his peace.” He mussed Porrim’s hair. She hated it when her hair was mussed. “Now let’s get you to sleep. It’s been a long night.”_

_She didn’t press the subject any further. As dubious as she was, she knew when to keep quiet.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we get to the part of the fic where shit gets weird.
> 
> AKA
> 
> "Welcome to Who's Plot Is It Anyway where the backstories are made up and canon doesn't matter!"
> 
> On an unrelated note, I'm looking for a beta reader! I've been fussing around with chapters for not only this fic but others (namely Beatitudes and Nihilist) and I really need a guiding light. If anyone has the time and/or patience for that, please contact me! You'd be a lifesaver.


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